


The Contrabass Conundrum

by melonpanparade



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/melonpanparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin is a little obsessed with taking care of his new contrabass tuba. Jean’s just pissed off because the brass instrument is getting more action than he does. Oh, and all the sexual innuendo drives him crazy, too. </p><p>Written for Jearmin Week II (prompt: protect).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Contrabass Conundrum

**Author's Note:**

> A contrabass tuba looks like [this](http://www.spitfireaudio.com/wordpress3/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/Owen-Slade.jpg).

Jean thinks he’s dreaming when Armin walks through the front door of their flat, but a painful pinch of his skin reminds him that he is not dreaming, and that Armin is indeed hauling a monster of an instrument inside with him. Well, he assumes it’s an instrument case and not a weirdly shaped coffin concealing a small, dead body.

“The hell is that?” he asks, when Armin wheels it into their living room and opens the case to show off his shiny, brass instrument.

“It’s my new contrabass tuba,” Armin announces proudly.

Jean just stares, dumbfounded. Well, at least it’s not a dead body.

“Shit, Armin. How… how do you even play that? It’s bigger than half your size!”

And Jean is not exaggerating. Armin has grown taller since they moved in together, but the metal monster looks huge against his slender body.

“And to think that this is the 4/4 size,” Armin says, with a sigh. “There’s the kaisertuba, which is the 5/4 size, and the grand orchestral tuba is the 6/4 size. If only I could get my hands around something that big. I’d probably have trouble with all that blowing too—it looks like it’d require an immense amount of stamina. Oh! And, did you know the distant ancestor of the tuba is called the serpent? It has a really strange shape—all snake-like, hence the name—and I would have no idea how my fingers would be able to reach all the holes, ‘cause they’re spread out along the length of the hard wood. But on a brighter note, they don’t have a rigidly defined fingering system, so I’d be able to choose whatever fingering suited me!”

Bloody hell, there is no way Armin is not doing this on purpose. Especially when he takes the contrabass tuba out of its case and settles down on the couch with it nestled snugly between his legs. With a microfibre cloth, he starts rubbing gently at the bell of the tuba, using slow strokes at first before speeding up, and then going slow again. And throughout this process, Jean is reduced to staring, once more, until his mind starts working and something clicks.

“Hang on; is this revenge for the bagpipes and kilt I borrowed from my friend a couple of weeks ago?”

“No, no not at all.” The deceptively sweet smile on Armin’s face tells him otherwise. “I’ve always wanted to play an instrument that stands out, so I’m renting this baby second-hand for a trial period, but I think I like it enough to buy it! I have to be really careful with cleaning it, though.”

Before Armin returns the instrument to its case, he gives the bell one more thorough rub to emphasise his point. Jean gulps.

“Now, I’m going to have a shower. Don’t try to touch it or steal it; I _will_ know.”

Now this is new. Armin getting all protective over an instrument. Although, he supposes he has been looking at the contrabass tuba like he wants to pummel it, while simultaneously looking at Armin like he wants to jump him.

“I’m pretty sure I’d break my back if I tried to steal it.”

“Don’t even try!”

The way Armin saunters down their hallway, on top of all the innuendo–that was definitely not unintentional—has Jean thinking that he probably needs a shower, too.

A cold shower.

 

* * *

 

“You know, sometimes I wonder if I should have opted for the bassoon instead,” Armin calls out to Jean, who is circling around the instrument that has been occupying their living room more often than he has in the past week and a half. In fact, on the first night, he was more than slightly unimpressed when he found the metal monster lying on his side of their shared bed (“Sorry Jean, I want it close to me because I’m scared someone’s going to break in and steal it, you know?”). Since then, it’s been prohibited from entering their bedroom, and can only be played in the living room.

“Why? I mean, you’ve already got this brass buffoon, if you ask me,” Jean mutters under his breath.

“Well, no one asked you, did they?”

Heck, Armin is _really_ overprotective of his contrabass tuba/bassoon/buffoon/whatever the hell it is. And this is all rather ridiculous, because his boyfriend is paying more attention to a bloody tuba, and he will not stand for that any longer.

 

* * *

 

Two can play the same game, Jean figures. And so the next time Armin is seated on their couch, poised and ready to clean with a basin of water, an old towel, and a plastic sheet covering their timber flooring, he’s more than determined to turn the tables.

As usual, things are easier said than done.

After all, how could he have anticipated that Armin reading a printout of a PDF on the maintenance and cleaning of brass instruments could distract him so much?

“Jean, do we have any lubricant?”

“What?”

“Oil, Jean. The lubrication tips recommend I oil the valves so they slide easily .”

“Don’t you need special oil for that?”

“Oh, you’re right. It says valve oil here. Hopefully the piston valves won’t become stiff before I can apply some oil.” Armin looks at the paper beside him, dragging his finger across and down the page to find information pertaining to the tuba. “Snake brush. Hang on, I think the owner showed me this earlier.” He digs around in the pockets of the case and lets out a loud whoop when he finds it.

“What the hell is that?”

“‘A brush on the end of a long, flexible shaft’,” Armin reads, and then dips it in water and adds a dollop of soap on the brush. “Alright, what does it say here? ‘Work the brush back and forth, then push it in another inch or two, then work it again.’ Good thing the contrabass tuba has such a large opening.”

Concentrate. Don’t get distracted. Don’t kick the tuba. Don’t jump Armin. Focus on turning the tables. Turn the tables.

“Hey Armin, would you like to clean my tuba after, if you know what I mean? ‘Cause I bet you could make my tuba sing, if you know what I mean. I’d make you some quality music, if you know what I mean.”

“Hm, looks like I only need to give it a bath two or three times a year. That’s a shame though; it seemed like an enjoyable challenge. Sorry Jean, did you say something?”

Right. Abort mission! There will be no turning tables today.

“No, no nothing at all.”

A bath! A bath, for goodness’ sake. He can’t even remember the last time Armin washed his hair for him! Bloody hell, for how much longer must he be subjected to such behaviour? Perhaps if he apologises for the bagpipe incident… but first, a cold shower. A much needed cold shower.

 

* * *

 

When he returns, Armin is still in the living room, but the cleaning items have been packed away, save for the microfibre cloth Armin is using to give the tuba bell a rub down.

Jean groans. He can do this. Come on.

“Armin, do you really have to do this?”

“Do what?”

If Jean weren’t so focused on trying to look anywhere but Armin’s face, he would have seen the smug look on Armin’s face and the gleam twinkling in his eyes.  

“This! The whole tuba thing.” Jean throws his hands up in frustration.

“Of course I do,” Armin replies blandly. “Cleaning your instrument is essential. If I recall correctly, you clean yours almost every night.”

Jean chokes. “Armin, Armin, please. I’m sorry about the bagpipes, so just—enough with the innuendo.”

Armin puts the instrument down carefully, and then steps into Jean’s personal space so that their toes are touching. He draws his face closer to Jean, and Jean can feel the puffs of Armin’s breath warm his face. Armin kisses him with the same focus and thoroughness he uses for his tuba, and Jean thinks, yes, there is hope!

When they draw apart, both of them are breathless and panting.

“So, no more innuendo?”

Armin smiles and Jean’s heart stops beating. “Hmm… nope.”

“Oh, fuck you, Armin,” he says without heat, but the tone of his voice borders on a whine.

“Maybe later; I have to practise my blowing technique on this tuba first. Get ready for the real thing, you know.”

Jean sighs in resignation. Well, perhaps this whole tuba business isn’t _tubad_ after all. Oh, bloody hell. Now Armin’s terrible wordplay is rubbing off on him. Still, Jean thinks, with a leer, if what happened earlier is any indication of what will transpire later, then that wouldn’t be the only thing of Armin’s rubbing off on him.

Yes, not _tubad_ at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Links to references mentioned in the fic (chronological order):**   
>  __  
>  [Kaisertuba and grand orchestral tuba](http://www.schneideruwe.de/tubatour.html)   
>  [Serpent](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serpent_\(instrument\)%20)   
>  [PDF on the maintenance and cleaning of brass instruments](http://www.waunakee.k12.wi.us/faculty/gbraun/newsfile12626_1.pdf)   
>  [Snake brush](http://www.philparker.biz/index.php/accessories/cleaning-materials/kolbl-cleaning-brush-for-trombone-tuba.html)   
>  ["if you know what I mean"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_games_from_Whose_Line_Is_It_Anyway%3F#Dialogue-based_games%20)   
> 


End file.
